


Hero Worship

by PrinceofKawaii



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Hero Worship, M/M, Maybe more characters later, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 06:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceofKawaii/pseuds/PrinceofKawaii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Dave's sense of hero worship carried over after the scratch?</p><p>The only person Dave Strider's ever looked up to is, embarrassingly enough, his little brother. At under half his age, Dirk is easily twice as intelligent as he is and much better at being put together. It's always Dave being excited to go home, asking Dirk what he wants and what he needs. It's like in some other universe their roles were reversed...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Original summary:
> 
> Okay so you know how Dave essentially hero worships Bro in the beta verse? Well I wanna try writing an alpha stridercest fic that follows the same principle. 
> 
> Dirk as the unflappable cool one and dave always excited to go home and see his little bro. Finding it weird and embarrassing that the only person he’s ever looked up to is under half his age. 
> 
> When a relationship is started dave essentially defers to dirk for various reasons. Probably to make up for how he’s always gone. 

Blood red irises scan the surrounding cityscape with vague interest from behind the protective darkness of gold-rimmed sunglasses. A hand reaches up and brushes a lock of blonde hair from a handsome face dotted with faint freckles. Dave Strider is away from Austin so often that he’s able to marvel at his home whenever he returns. It’s been six and a half months this time; his fifth movie is just hitting final production now after endless filming. His films may be conventionally terrible but it took time to make them that way. It was an art that took time.

He nearly winces when he thinks of the brother he’d had to leave behind. Again. Thinks about the money he spent to get a last minute flight out to Austin from Los Angeles and how he never even bothered to stay for the celebration symbolizing how done filming was. He’d just wanted to see Dirk.

It was a silly whim at this point, wanting to see Dirk. It was late, and he was exhausted. His feet throbbed uncomfortably in his dress shoes and his starched collar rubbed against his neck. Dave should merely want to settle down in his apartment and go to sleep, not immediately shoot the shit at this hour with the child - young man, now - that was under his care but he hadn’t even raised.

Maybe that was all he needed; validation. The knowledge that Dirk forgave him for leaving yet again. His younger brother never wanted to come but that didn’t stop the guilt from eating away at the very core of his being. What if this was the last straw? What if Dirk finally decided he didn’t like him anymore? The sudden crushing feeling around his heart is enough to make Dave’s breath hitch. His anxiety level is so high that he doesn’t even notice when the town car pulls to a stop outside of his apartment building. It’s not the biggest one in the area - on the contrary, in fact - but as he stared at the entrance from his spot in the car it felt so much more imposing.

“Mr. Strider, we’ve arrived.”


	2. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave is greeted by Dirk. A lot of introspection and a bath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to gjrioah and ShinyObsessed, and everyone else who read/enjoyed that prologue, for if not for you lot this story wouldn't exist.

Dirk was awake when he slipped into the apartment, Dave noted, the telltale light from under his bedroom door filtering into the otherwise inky black apartment. The sound of the front door closing and the depositing of a great many keys on the hook near the door must've covered up the sound of Dirk's door, because the next thing Dave knew was the soft sticky sound of bare feet padding along the expensive cherry hardwood. 

"I'd have at least thought you would wait until morning to come home. It's awfully late, isn't it?" The voice that came out of Dirk's fifteen year old mouth was deeper than he remembered and a little husky from exhaustion. Dave couldn't pinpoint the last time he heard it. The realization makes him  feel a little sick. Some part of his mask must've cracked because Dirk spoke again. "I don't care. I was recently diagnosed with insomnia."

"Runs in the family, I guess," Dave replies without thinking, more so relieved that Dirk hadn't picked up the underlying cause of his malcontent. He sounds exhausted, and the tone of his voice causes his little brother's lips to twist down. Though he really wasn't little anymore, was he? 

Tilting his head, Dave finds himself scrutinizing Dirk absentmindedly through the darkness and with what little light Dirk's open doorway had spilled out into the living room. Dirk was certainly taller then the last time the two of them had been in one place, shoulders broadening already in a way Dave could tell would garner him being tall and masculine in stature. There didn't have to be too much light for Dave to know that the meticulously styled hair on top of his brother's head was a rich strawberry blonde more auburn than pinkish, and that there was a gentle smattering of freckles across a lovely Roman nose. Dave couldn't help but be jealous over his brother's looks. Dirk had gotten all the good genes. He even _tanned_.

Dirk stares at him right back, regarding Dave for several moments behind his own shades as his brother gives him what's known as the 'director's eye'. Then he says simply, "Are you enjoying the view of my half-naked body, Dave?" There's a hint of mischief in the words because Dirk's a little shit and he _knows_ he's a little shit. 

His words knock Dave out of his reverie, though, and he notes that his brother was indeed lacking a shirt. By the silhouetted contours on his left arm from the light, Dave could surmise that Dirk worked out, too. He suddenly felt rather small and self conscious compared to him even though he himself wasn't bad looking in the least. "Sorry, didn't even notice. Too busy working out if you're gonna be a midget for the rest of your life. I'm still a head taller than you." 

Dirk knows he's bullshitting on some level, and Dave knows Dirk knows, and Dirk knows that Dave knows that he knows so he lets the subject drop. Instead the teen opens his arms somewhat lazily and Dave can just feel the way the air shifts with the way he knows Dirk just raised a brow. "So," the younger Strider starts, but he doesn't get to finish because the action ends up with him having his arms full of Dave. 

Dave had just been waiting for the granted permission, the simple ability to tuck Dirk under his chin and hold him tightly. Dirk doesn't really hug back (he never does - not properly anyway), just rests his hands on Dave's back and endures the affection Dave has been longing to smother his brother in since the day he left. This goes on for another moment before  Dirk gently taps his back and Dave lets go instantly just like he was trained to do. Dirk's always been a little weird about people.

"I missed you, too," Dave hears Dirk say, and his feels his heart leap into his throat. That's what he was waiting for. Those words stop the anxiety that'd been consuming him since he glanced up at the apartment building from existing. 

Dirk must've grabbed his tie without him noticing, because the next thing that Dave knew he was being lead by his tie into his ensuite bathroom and perched upon the side of the expensive jacuzzi tub. Bathwater starts filling it up, and Dirk methodically starts taking off Dave's shoes.  Dave wants to protest, but his body aches and his being craves the attention so he allows it. The rest of his clothes eventually follow in a manner most clinical before Dave slides into the tub with all the grace of a wildcat. It fits the way his body is lean and graceful with tightly coiled muscle spanning the length of his being.

Without any need for prompting, Dirk settles himself on he side of the tub and they begin to talk. Dave about the latest celebrity gossip and his movie, and Dirk about how he was pushed up a grade in school and how he made a fully functional remote-control helicopter from scratch with the spare parts he had around his room. The room is warm with steam and contentment, and when Dave emerges from the cooling water with rivulets trailing down his pale, freckled skin he feels better than he has in weeks.

That night, sleep comes to him easily.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> TL;DR: here's another chapter.
> 
> I'm so sorry I just abandoned this. I had no inspiration. But seeing how I have no internet or tv and school's almost over I'm going stir-crazy. So expect more of this.
> 
> I'm also sorry for the level of crap this chapter contained. I wrote the beginning after I finished the last chapter and then didn't touch it again until the other day and I finished it last night.
> 
> Writing on an ipod is hard.

Contrary to how easily he fell asleep, Dave didn't actually sleep that long. He awoke after four and a half meager hours of sleep, the harsh filming schedule having been ingrained in his body until it became his biological clock. Instantly, Dave's groggily shooting up straight in bed, covers being flung back before... 

Before he realized that he was home.

He flops back against the large, comfortable bed, tugging the covers back over himself to ward off the early morning chill. Then he rolls onto his stomach and nuzzles into the clean pillowcase and takes a deep, contented breath. There was no way he could possibly get back to sleep now, but Dave found he could at least afford the luxury of relaxation for now.

Five minutes and forty-six seconds later the door across the hall opens up and there's the barest sound of feet across the floor. In his haze Dave is initially alarmed because he's not heard footsteps this early in the morning in a long time. Even when he had women over, or Rose, he always woke earlier than they did to get ready for a long day of work. But then he relaxes because it was Dirk getting ready to start the day. 

Reluctantly Dave pulls himself out of bed, stretching languidly once his feet touch the floor. He's not wearing anything, so the chill that he'd been trying to avoid sinks into his bones. The lure of clothes draws him to his dresser where it seems Dirk went through his things and folded them all. It's easy to find what he wants to wear. He ends up emerging from his bedroom in a teeshirt and a pair of jeans that hung low on his hips because he'd lost weight since the last time he wore them. They were worn at the knees and familiar, though, so he didn't terribly mind.

As he enters the kitchen, Dave stretches, his shirt riding up over the smooth plane of his stomach and the red boxer-briefs settled above the hem of denim. "Sup, lil bro?" He questions Dirk, the teen now rummaging through the fridge. Dave then realizes the absurdity of the question and changes it to a better one: "Find anything good to eat in there? I'm fucking starved."

Without turning to glance at him, Dirk replies in an even tone, "I noticed. You haven't been eating well lately. Again."

(A/N: I don't even know how long it's been since I last wrote this)

"I'm trying to be pretty enough to be a model," Dave drawls lazily, heading over to the fridge and opening the door wider so he can look for something good to eat. It also has to be something light enough that his stomach won't protest against the tumultuous position it'd been surviving under until this point. "Do you think I'm pretty? I'm trying ever so hard."

The tone he uses gives the impression that he's batting his eyelashes in an ironic fashion, but his expression is the same stone-cold almost-pouty one he always has. There's something about the way Dirk glances at him that bothers him, though, that almost causes a crack in the cool facade. Dave's well aware that Dirk's started noticing the fact that he takes poor care of himself, but this is the first time he's mentioned it. Either Dirk's sick of his shit, or he really does look that awful.

Dave hasn't looked in a mirror yet, but he's sure that it's a little from column A and a little from column B. And there's something about Dirk noticing that makes him want to take a little better care of himself.

"That wasn't close to being A material, yo. If this is what you're like when you're working, it's no wonder that you don't have the mental capacity to take care of yourself." The teen starts removing food from the fridge, and Dave can't help but watch the way Dirk's muscles move under the lightly scarred skin of his arms and shoulders. His little brother had been taking good care of himself and it showed. Only it showed better than it did last night.

Dave continues standing there dumbly for a moment before going to reach for a clamshell container of strawberries, his hand smacked away like a mother might do if, say, her child's hand was reaching for the cookie jar instead. Pulling his hand away, the elder Strider frowns heavily, but he doesn't question Dirk's actions. He doesn't have to. Especially not when Dirk's pulling them out of the fridge, too.

Closing the refrigerator door, Dirk then proceeds to try and shoo Dave from the kitchen. "Dave - bro - I'll make something for us to eat. Go mess up your room again or something, I don't care. I'll call you when it's ready."

Dave takes a couple steps back, shrugs, and then begins to head out of the room. "Man, I don't know what's so hard about dropping down on your knees and worshipping the ground I walk on like everyone else, but hey. Ain't gonna turn down some free grub. Just try not to kill me." He may seem calm on the outside, but Dave's pretty rattled. Somehow not being properly reprimanded made him uncomfortable. Like he was being judged more.  

Ugh. Every time he saw Dirk he was reminded more and more of dear, sweet Rose.

...Ugh.

Dave unthinkingly grabs a pad of paper, a pencil, and an eraser on the way to the couch. There he flops down onto it, resting his back against one arm of the seat and stretching his long legs out, one ankle resting on the other. Crimson stares blankly into the white, lined paper, the owner's mind elsewhere. After a few moments he begins to sketch.

Meticulously styled hair in a shade of strawberry-auburn, a strong brow, strong nose. A jaw that was starting to show the first inklings of manhood, thin lips that nearly always twisted up in the corner in such a way that gave the illusion  of a superior smirk. Eyes that always glinted with a light that spoke of a deeper intelligence and more wisdom than you could possibly comprehend.

He's sketching Dirk as he saw him last night; all dramatic shadows, outer coldness and inner warmth.

The drawing continues; a long, slender neck with a prominent Adam's apple, the slope of a shoulder lean and almost awkwardly tight with developing muscles that can't keep up with how much he's shooting up in height just yet.

Dave's smudging the pencil shading with the tip of his thumb when he feels a hand on his shoulder. Blinking blearily, he raises the hand holding the pencil and  rubs at an eye with the back of his hand. 

"Dave, I've been trying to get your attention for the last few minu -" He knows that the pause is Dirk looking down at the drawing. It's a thoughtful one, but the teen doesn't say anything about his portrait. "-tes. Come on, it's gonna get cold."

Dave looks down at his artwork - really looks at it this time - and lets out a small breath. The boy on the page is beautiful. 

It hurts because he's not quite sure how Dirk got this way. 


	4. Fast forward

Almost as though he was trying to make up for his absence, the next three weeks involved Dave spending a lot more time with his little brother. Or trying, at least. Despite Dirk's initial irritation at the lack of privacy he now had (it was always easier to adjust to Dave being back as opposed to him being gone), he eventually accepted the invasion and they came to a comfortable compromise. That being that while they didn't often do things together, they were generally in the same room each doing their own thing. Occasionally they'd toss witty remarks back and forth, or Dave would be on the phone, but generally they'd enjoy a companionable silence.

It was hard to tell if it was just Dave being home or if it was their newly rediscovered "closeness", but Dave had already started looking a lot better than he did when he first walked in the door. The dark circles under his eyes were fading a bit, and he was no longer as thin.

One of the things that they did do together was work out, Dave doing yoga while Dirk did tae bo. Together they did body-weight exercises and they'd go down and jog around the neighborhood, subtly trying to push themselves to outperform the other.

Dave was always in a little bit of awe when he saw his little brother - sixteen years his junior to the day - managing to keep up with him like he did. And under the guise of competition, he could look over and admire the way Dirk's muscles strained to keep him unwavering as he did a perfect handstand, rivulets of sweat trailing over the dips and curves of his body. Dirk would look over at him and his reddened face would would smirk, the boy shirting his hands further apart so that he could do a push-up. If Dave had been anyone else he'd think that Dirk made it look easy, but he could see the little twinges his body gave that showed effort, frustration, and exhaustion. Nonetheless, he does one full handstand push-up to show off, bowing his back so that his feet touch the ground, pushing himself into a full standing position with his hands. He's careful not to do this too quickly, lest the blood rush from his head too quickly and make him dizzy.

Dirk mentioned that he shouldn't have done that at the end of the workout after they'd already pushed themselves to the limit, and that if he'd done it at the beginning of the workout he could have done more push-ups. Dave's lips twitched into a semblance of a smile, amused and mocking. "Of course, dear," he said, saccharine sweet to save face for his poor little brother.

As it stands right now, they're both in Dirk's room, Dirk tinkering on his desk and Dave sitting on the edge of the bed with both his laptop and its stand in his lap. Dave's phone rings and he picks it up, answering it. "Talk to me." When the person - his manager - did in fact speak to him, his already fair skin paled a bit and it took him several moments to compose himself. In an uncharacteristic move he pulls the stand off his lap and sets it aside, his laptop seeming to hum in protest at the change in venue, and then he leaves the room. He's been conducting his business just fine in Dirk's presence, so understandably the kid's curiosity was piqued.

The roar of "it's too soon!" followed by a string of explicatives made Dirk's brows raise a bit. That proved that this was Dave's manager. She was the only one he spoke to that way, but he's never been that loud (or that angry) when it's come to her. Dave's voice goes low enough to avoid being heard, but Dirk knows that it's not because he's been properly chastised.

Meanwhile, with Dave:

"Seriously, the fuck do you mean it's time to work on another movie? I've only had three weeks off and even then I've done several online interviews. Stop riding my ass, your dick's gonna get stuck in there!"

The woman on the other end of the line snorts. "Maybe then I'll be able to keep better tabs on you and stop the bad press about your refusal to date. Half the population thinks you're gay."

"There's nothing wrong with being gay," Dave snaps at her, fiercely defending Dirk. She apologizes, and he continues. "I'm just saying that I want you to suck my dick."

"When and where, big boy?" She was used to going toe-to-toe with Dave.

"Rita, I'm fucking serious. I was gone for six months. Dirk's practically grown up into the Incredible Hulk and oh my god have you heard his voice? Okay, well you haven't but he's turning into a man and I fucking missed that shit. So I'm not dealing with this again. I want a vacation. Time for my bro before he reaches the age when he inexplicably starts hating my guts."

"But there's no time for that now. You've got schedulings on Letterman and E and you can kiss my ass if you think you're fucking this up for me."

"Well when're these stupid interviews?"

"Last one's August twenty-eighth so far, but -"

"You can have me 'till then and that's it. Much as I love having everyone kissing my ass and my feet and all the social shit, I'm taking time off. At least till after Valentine's day. We'll see how I feel closer to that point."

"You're insufferable."

Dave made a bunch of kissy noises into the phone and then ended the call, turning his cell off and heading back into Dirk's room. Sitting back down on the edge of the bed, he's careful not to mess up the covers too much.

Dirk turns around in his desk chair and gives Dave a searching look to try and figure out what happened, but he's got nothing so he relents. "What was that about? You being their twenty-four seven sled dog? 'Mush, Dave! Mush!' But I mean, geez, I've seen whipped but this is ridiculous. Mind you, from what I've heard from Rose, apparently you have inclinations for that sort of thing."

"She says a lot of things. My kinks are treasures you have to dig upon your own."

"Should I go grab my whip then?"

From the way Dave's brows raise above his shades, Dirk knows he's won. Dave won't reach for the bait, though, especially considering all the fetish shit on Dirk's walls. "You're sorta right though. I told Rita to suck it and that I wanted a vacation. Like, an actual vacation. Not this time I have between finishing the last movie and starting the next one and trying to work my schedule around all this damn publicity crap."

"You love the publicity crap," Dirk point out, lips twisting down into a slight frown.

"That I do, Dirky, but there's a point when a guy doesn't wanna do jack shit for a while. So I'm a whipped bitch for another month and a half and then I'm free 'till at least March."

Dirk's clearly impressed by that. "So 'bout September to March? Congrats, that's about six months vacation. Where are you gonna go and spend your time? Las Vegas? The Bahamas?"

At that, Dave shrugs. "I'm not goin' anywhere, kiddo." Dirk looks like he's trying to process that information, and Dave looks over the rim of his shades at him, eyes crinkled with mirth. "Yep. I'm all yours 'till then. Let's just hope you don't get sick of me too soon."

Dirk's body language shifts to something Dave hopes is positive, and Dave feels like his whole being's lit up from the inside at how Dirk's also seemed to enjoy their time together. Hell, at this rate he should be here in time for Dirk to finish not only the project he's working on, but even a few more after that! How a fifteen year old kid was able to create things that not only looked better but worked better than the shit you could buy in stores was beyond him. It was an expensive hobby, but if it made Dirk happy, then Dave would gladly toss all the money he needed his way.

What takes the proverbial cake, however, is how Dirk opens his arms in a gesture that's got Dave getting off the bed and nearly knocking his laptop over in the process. Dave drops to his knees between Dirk's legs and wraps his arms around his younger brother's middle, cheek resting against ribcage and ear pressed over where Dirk's heart. The solid heartbeat was at first stuttering with surprise, but it then calms as Dirk begins to comprehend the strange position. The teen spreads his legs a little wider and wraps his arms around Dave's broad shoulders, only this time one hand is gently rubbing up and down over Dave's back. It's more than Dave can ever remember him doing. Dave's heart swells and he nuzzles Dirk's chest contentedly, not caring that his shades were digging painfully into his nose.

Dirk is genuinely surprised and his heart speeds up momentarily again as he brings the hand rubbing Dave's back up to his hair instead to run calloused, scarred fingers through it. At that the elder Strider makes a low humming sound that was very much akin to a purr. That's when Dirk needs to end the hug, pulling his hands away after tapping Dave's shoulder. He could only handle so much affectionate touching at a time.

Dave pulls away from him just as he was trained to, basking in the glow of what was the third hug he's gotten since he was home. As he sits between Dirk's knees for a moment, the teen can see over Dave's shades and into his eyes which were filled to the brim with love and admiration, corners crinkled in a smile that never quite reached his mouth. The wall goes up again, though, and Dave gets up, leaving Dirk marveling at how obviously Dave cared about him.

"Sorry about that," Dave apologizes, stretching a bit, "my back's a little sore and like hell was I gonna bend over. You could have at least gotten up."

A snort. "You didn't give me a chance. But I'll remember that for next time."


	5. Power Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I've only ever written one other multi-chapter fic that wasn't based off a roleplay - where I've winged it, I mean - and that on was never finished. So I really have no idea what I'm doing.
> 
> I'm trying, though! For you guys!
> 
> (Have I ever mentioned that writing on an iPod 4's Notes app is fucking hard? Because it is. Can't wait until I get my internet back.)

'How much pull do I really have?' That was Dirk's question ever since he found out that Dave downright adored him.

Dirk was a good kid despite his many nuances and neurosis. He was incredibly self-sufficient, had no interest in alcohol or drugs, did well in school, and he never asked for much other than funding for his expensive and rather engaging hobbies. If he needed money for anything else, well, he had a few small businesses he ran to supplement that. He'd repair broken electrical/electronic devices for people, and he took art and textile commissions as well. Between that and the allowance he got from Dave he was set. And if he didn't have enough money, he'd wait patiently until he did without fuss. It felt good to him to earn what he wanted, and that was all he ever bought; things he wanted. Everything he needed he already had. Dave really was a good provider.

It being almost a week after Zero Hour as he liked to call it for ironic purposes, Dirk decides to test his older brother. Dave's vegging out on the couch with the remote in his hand, flicking through the channels. He'll spend five minutes on each one just looking and longer if he sees something he likes. Despite this apparent display of mindlessness, he somehow manages to sense the younger male's approach - even over the din of the television.

"Hey, Dirky. Sup."

It takes a moment for Dirk to be frustrated because /how does he/ do /that/ before he can respond. And he responds by going over to the back of the couch and resting his arms over the back casually, about a foot from his target. Dirk shrugs offhandedly, looking at the television like he found it interesting before he pulls out the big guns.

"Well... I was wondering if you could do me a favor."

At that, Dave is clearly a little interested even though he's trying to hide it. It wasn't often that Dirk would ask for a favor, and thus the occasion was momentous. Or at least it was a big thing that Dirk couldn't do on his own so he had to reluctantly admit defeat and concede to the one person that could help him.

"A favor?" Dave's lips twitch upward a little bit in amusement. "Depends on what it is, little bro."

"I'd like a new tool set. A nice one. Mine are getting on - lots of chips, knicks and scratches on them from my work. I can't even remember where and when I got them it's been so long."

A raised brow - understandable of course. "And you want me to buy you this because..?"

At that Dirk gnaws on his lower lip for a moment, feeling awfully childish about having to ask for what could be construed as new toys for himself. He was perfectly capable of buying his own things. But wait -

"That's simple. There's a few other things I want, too. I'm expanding my current threshold on mechanics. Plus there's something a little different about the things I'm asking you to get me. After all, they're out of my price range for a reason."

Six weeks later there was a package on his workbench when he woke up. It was remarkably heavy, and it took a little work to get it unwrapped. What Dirk saw inside that package was almost enough to take his breath away. Solid titanium tools, diamond edged, orange grips and handles, and... on every single one of them was engraved in a most elegant script the name "Strider". That was above and beyond what he'd asked for, and the second, much smaller set specifically for electronics was just as beautiful.

A slow smile touches Dirk's lips, and he feels a great sense of self-satisfaction. These would do nicely.

Clearing his desk of the older tools, Dirk gets to work on building something for Dave that he might very well appreciate. If not now, then definitely when he went back to work.

When it was apparent that Dirk wasn't going to join him for breakfast, Dave went over to his little bro's room with some food and quietly opened the door. The sight of the gift he got Dirk being so appreciated made his heart swell, and he went over and placed the tray down. On the way back out he ruffles Dirk's hair and despite the hand running through it quickly afterward there's no further complaint.

Dave likes to think this proves he's a good bro.

Dirk knows it does.

After that, Dirk starts asking for more things. Nothing as big as the first and he's sure to space out the requests reasonably so it's not as strange. It's still a test with Dirk trying to see if he can pinpoint some sort of an edge to the unabashed love and generosity. A moment when Dave'll say no.

So far it doesn't seem like there is one. Even if Dave says no he eventually cracks anyway. The teen doesn't find any problem with this thus far. Though, really, why would he?

It's a searing day near the beginning of August when Dirk finishes that gift for Dave. It's a brand new cellphone, unlocked, completely customized for Dave's use and the longest lasting battery on the market. It was a labor of both love and hate, everything putting his skills to the test. Every piece of the phone is replaceable, so theoretically as long as Dirk's around the phone can keep getting better and stronger.

The teen can't count the amount of times he's electrocuted himself or got soldering wire stuck to his skin that he had to slice off. Not that it matters, his hands are more scar tissue than hand at this point as is.

Dave's stretched out on his bed in nothing but a pair of briefs, the fan blowing at him and a book in his hands. The phone and the cords that go with it are dropped on his stomach once Dirk enters the room. The elder Strider nearly curses him out before he looks at what he's been gifted with.

"What the hell is this?"

"Turn it on, dip shit."

Dave does, and the screen greets him with a 'Hello, Dave' that's most curious. As he flicks through the device, he tries it out. Almost a month and a half of solid work went into this, he's sure. Eight hours a day. There seems to be a pull out keyboard in addition to the touch screen, and Dirk admits it's because it was rather hard to deal with the touch screen. Among other things, like how Dave is quicker when typing with a keyboard rather than the touch screen and he's less prone to errors.

It's too hot, but Dave reaches up and grasps Dirk's arm. He almost looks like he's going to tug him down for a bug, but he uses the leverage to sit up, instead. Dave knows the rules better than anyone.

"Thanks, dude," Dave says, voice sincere with the affection in it. "You're fuckin' incredible. And don't worry, if anything goes wrong I'll let you know asap."

"I appreciate it."

Dave thinks he's gotten a gift.

Dirk knows it's one more coil of his brother wrapped around his finger.


	6. Loss and Acceptance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I DID IT! I wrote two whole chapters, and I'm here to post them. I tried writing in second person to see if it stimulated my creativity some more, and it has! ...Supposedly. Let me know what you think of it.
> 
> I was initially gonna put these two chapters I wrote before chapter 5, but then I decided "fuck it". I don't care. There are words.
> 
> (You're all great, by the way. Thanks so much for every shitty word that assaults your beautiful eyes.)
> 
> There's also a treat for you at the end of the next chapter!

You sag heavily against the front door when you enter the apartment, your mind racing with countless thoughts that weigh on your consciousness and soul both. The wood of the door is cool against your back and arms -even through your tee-shirt – and you think it helps a little bit, though even a little bit isn't enough. It's hard to stop thinking about what happened with Rose last night, and that's a train of thought you want to break immediately because it's getting ready to run right the fuck off the tracks and into a civilian settlement and there's nothing you can do about it. Not a damn thing. So many casualties, mass graves, creepy legends about haunted lands, et cetera.  
  
Okay – that one started to get away from you faster than Usain Bolt on Powerthirst and you needed to reel it in like this was a prize winning catch and there was minutes left in the local fishing derby.  
  
...For once the metaphors weren't helping to get your mind off of it.  
  
 _Reader, picture this if you will: You're leaning against the headboard of a king sized bed that's covered in rich, silk sheets in the most luscious shade of royal purple. Your skin is heated and covered in a film of sweat and the person you love is lavishing your bare skin with the sort of attention that your couplings have perfected over the years. You should be shaking uncontrollably and under the influence of your second – or maybe even third orgasm over the last hour, but for some reason you haven't even reached your first._  
  
 _That was the situation that you found yourself in yesterday in New York. You had managed to give Rose many an orgasm, but you hadn't managed to finish yourself off, and neither could she. It was starting to get pointless to continue. She was exhausted and oversensitive for the meantime and you were flagging under the sheer disappointment and effort. You both give up, but not without you apologizing._  
  
 _“Fuck. I'm sorry, I don't know what's going on. I'm just not -” Your frustration is showing, your cheeks burning with shame as you refuse to meet her gaze in the dim light._  
  
 _“Sorry for getting me off so many times?” She teases, and voice is rich with humor. It's an attempt to make you feel better, but her efforts are for naught and she concedes surprisingly quickly. “You want to talk about it?”_  
  
 _“I want to. I do. Want to have sex with you I mean. You look hot as hell, and you're amazing, but shit, Rose. I'm just not feeling it. I don't know what to do. It's just not working.” Not that it has been working for a while now. You grab your wet dick in one hand and turn it this way and that as though you're trying to find a crack or something that would explain the 'poor' performance it gave. You just not being into Rose wasn't a thing that happened._  
  
 _Rose herselfjust gives you this deep, searching look, and rests her hand on your forearm comfortingly. “Dave, it's fine. But... maybe we should discuss other options for you.”_  
  
 _You release your dick and recoil slightly away at her touch, lip curling a little bit. “Oh, please. If this is your way of trying to get me off quicker, it's not going to work. I mean, how many God damned times do we have to talk about my sexuality before you're satisfied? I'm not gonna -”_  
  
 _A frown, the corners of her thin lips twitching downward and wrinkles appearing on her forehead – a crease between her brows. You almost feel bad for lashing out at her - and you had because your tone was awful – but it was a little bit of a sore spot for you. It was even worse the more you tried to suppress it, and you couldn't let her continue to speak for another reason: the air had a feeling of finite-ness to it. She knew you were suppressing yourself and she might even cut off this thing between you so as to give you a chance to explore other options. As you gathered, she also had other avenues she wished to pursue._  
  
 _“Rose,” you murmur, your non-gross hand coming up to rub at your face. You feel so tired. “Please don't. I wouldn't even know where to fucking begin.”_  
  
 _“You've been having trouble for... a while,” she says, voice low, and not for the first time you're wondering if she's psychic, can read you that well, or maybe she's just that damn lucky. You go to try and correct her, tell her that you haven't ever had a problem when it came to her and that was the point. She doesn't let you interject; she has you pinned like a butterfly to a board.“That's why you were here. To see if you just needed my familiar touch. I think it's time for you to at least try. We both know you wouldn't be able to, nor would you wish to, go all the way the first night with some random man you met in a bar. But maybe try watching some pornography on the subject. Test the waters, Dave. I -”_  
  
 _“I know, okay? I just -” A sigh. “I know.”_  
  
 _She was going to say 'I have some waters of my own I'd like to test out.' As weak as it makes you feel, you'd prefer she didn't say it out loud. She didn't have to and you're sure it would eat at you. It might've eaten at you in some manner before, too, but it would be worse after a sore performance such as this. You'd might as well say goodbye to any semblance of manly pride you still had kicking around._  
  
 _If you were to put it into layman's terms it would be something like: 'Yo, so what happened between you and Rose?' 'Oh, I couldn't get off while we fucked so she decided to go lezbo for someone she could make cum for her. No big.' Yeah, not good._  
  
 _“It's for the best, Dave.” And with that she kissed you on the corner of the mouth. It was as finite as you'd feared, and with that you stood and started dressing. Rose was your last pit stop before you left New York and you left her there on the bed, the silken covers caressing her curvacious form. They may as well have been a fortress._  
  
You still can't believe it. You two had been a “thing” off and on for years – friends with benefits was the best way to describe it. This was just the miserable ending that you should have seen coming. There was nothing compulsing her to stay with you. There was no excuse for your blindness.  
  
You're not sure how long you'd been standing there for, but the door opens eventually and you're stumbling away from it half in surprise and half to try and regain your balance. You had been leaning against it for purchase, of course. You turn to see Dirk standing there, and he's about to say something before his lips turn down and lines appear on his forehead. You lament over how much he looks like Rose when he does that. Something must have shown up on your expression because he's there, dropping his bag on the threshold and gathering you up into his arms.  
  
It takes a few moments before you cling to him in return, your face buried in his neck and your shades digging painfully into your nose. It doesn't even register that he was the first one to initiate contact.  
  
It takes a while, but Dirk ends up managing to wrestle you both onto the couch. You use the word wrestle because the way you're clinging to him might as well be a shitty WWE move called the Hug of Death or something. Though you don't think you could rock spandex.  
  
It will take a long time before you can open up to him, and in the interim the two of you play video games and act as though nothing's happened. You keep glancing out of the corner of your eye at Dirk, though, distracted by how many mannerisms he seemed to have picked up from the woman he ironically called 'mom'. The joke here being that your family would be odd one way or the other. As in, either Dirk's really your son or you've been fucking your own mother for the last... while. The thought nearly makes you chuckle out loud.  
  
Shenanigans, to be sure.  
  
Day two is much harder than day one. Weren't things supposed to get easier over time? Perhaps they might have been if you hadn't been living with someone who reminds you so much of Rose. You begin to withdraw from him, seeking refuge in your room a lot of the time. It's very selfish of you to do this, but you're no longer thirty-one.  
  
You're the fifteen year old boy that met the beautiful girl a few years his senior, the one that he did nothing but snark with endlessly.   
  
You're the sixteen year old young man who had his first deep conversation with her by accident. The same one who was terrified because her analyzing cut a little bit too deep.   
  
You're the nineteen year old who's too young to look after his younger brother alone. But you don't have to – the woman is there to help because she's got a daughter who's Dirk's age and no one is sure who the father is but you don't care. You both try and  fail together, and once you both get on your feet you remain friends but drift apart physically.   
  
You're the man of twenty-four that tried and failed to have relationships and realized the dangers of wishing the women were more like the pale beauty with the sharp, intelligent eyes and the condescending smirk because no one else understood you like she did.  
  
You're the man of twenty-six when you finally snap at her because all of the jests about your sexuality finally get to you and you reveal to her that you're scared and confused and you don't know what to do.  
  
You're the man of twenty-seven when you finally admit to yourself that you've been in love with her for a long time.  
  
At thirty-one you know for sure that you've got no chance at all, and it stings because you've learned first hand that a man can't just grab with his bare hands and expect to pick a rose from a bush. Their stems are strong, the thorns a defence against all those who the rose doesn't see as worthy to pluck it from its nest of twisting branches.  
  
A third day passes. A fourth and fifth. Still you say nothing about what happened and you avoid Dirk a little more with each passing day, even if he makes it difficult. Eventually you decide to heed Rose's advice and watch a couple videos. You still don't quite get off, but you were closer than you had been with her. She believed you were so out of touch with yourself that it was making your life difficult to lead.  
  
...She was right, not that knowing was making it any easier.  
  
You didn't come out of your room that whole day. Nor the next. Not for the reasons anyone would expect – you were simply frustrated and distressed. You had no idea what to do with this information and you were determined to do nothing at all.   
  
A week and a half after the initial incident, Dirk is at your bedroom door and ready to drag you out by force. His hand is poised as though he was going to bang on your door when you open it, and he seems honestly surprised to see you there. Your expression is plain as ever, your lips pursed and your hand tightening on the knob.  
  
“Dirk,” you say, voice a little rusty from disuse and a lack of knowledge of what to say and how to say it. Eventually you settle on, “I need some advice.”  
  
The teen makes an unintelligible noise at first, but then composes himself and raises himself to his full height. The top of his head is now just under your nose.“You know, if you were locked up in there swallowing your pride the whole time I'm going to scream. I thought it was actually something important.”  
  
Despite yourself, your lips twitch upward in the semblance of smile. It doesn't reach your eyes, though, but that's alright because your shades cover them up as it is. “Very funny. Here I was about to open up my heart to you -”  
  
Dirk rolls his eyes. You can't see him do it, but it's obvious that he does it. “Please, don't let me stop you from sharing your single feeling with me,” he comments drily.  
  
“I don't know, man, it's pretty offended now. I don't think I can coax it to come out.”  
  
“Dave -”  
  
You snigger and he follows suit until you sober up and sigh, a hand coming up to rub at your eyes. “What do you do if you wanna make kissy faces at the cute dude in the corner? Do you just offer to suck his dick? Like how does flirting work? How does anything work?”  
  
That has Dirk opening and closing his mouth several times as though either unsure of how to respond,  or perhaps he's waiting for you to laugh and tell him it was all a joke. When this doesn't happen, he shifts his weight a little bit and then shrugs. “I don't see why you would ask me since I have no practical experience, but... Dudes are human beings too, man. Everyone's different.  I can't claim to speak for every dick loving motherfucker on the face of the planet. But as for the 'anything'? I could always give you a crash course in sex ed, but it's nothing you can't learn on the internet.”  
  
Dirk's forthrightness both embarrasses and soothes you, and you can't help but ease a little of the tension in your body and give a snort of amusement. “Yep. Good ol' internet. Just gotta type in 'how do sex' and all those inexperienced assholes will teach me how to fuck in the ass like a true champ.'Just shove it in, man. Works for me. The screaming means they like it.'”  
  
This was said with a straight face and pretty quickly the two of you dissolve into laughter again.   
  
“You have a point,” Dirk amends, raising a hand and rubbing at his jaw. He was meticulously groomed as per usual, and you felt like a filthy hobo with your unkempt hair and fuzzy jawline. “Kissing is always the same, though. Touching is similar. It's just sometimes you have some fuzz to contend with.” A hand comes up and rubs against your cheek to punctuate his point. You find the action comforting and tilt your head into it, a deep exhaustion coming over you. Maybe it was time to give up; it was silly to keep being so distressed by your own nature. It felt even worse because Dirk was so comfortable in his own skin it made you feel a greater sense of unworthiness.  
  
There were many things about him that made you feel the same.  
  
There's a long pause like he's contemplating something, and then a simple statement of: “I could always provide a practical demonstration, if you'd like.”


	7. A Practical Application of Skills

_“You have a point,” Dirk amends, raising a hand and rubbing at his jaw. He was meticulously groomed as per usual, and you felt like a filthy hobo with your unkempt hair and fuzzy jawline. “Kissing is always the same, though. Touching is similar. It's just sometimes you have some fuzz to contend with.” A hand comes up and rubs against your cheek to punctuate his point._   
  
_There's a long pause like he's contemplating something, and then a simple statement of: “I could always provide a practical demonstration, if you'd like.”_

\---  
  
Sometimes you wish you didn't understand the way that your little brother's mind worked. You should be disgusted, angry, something – But instead you're hesitantly acceptant of the offer. Dirk would be thinking that you trust him, it's safe, it's a win-win situation for both of you, there's no risk whatsoever. Dirk was a very open-minded human being, and part of you thinks that it'll be his undoing one day. He's strong and more than capable of looking out for himself, but it'll get him into arguments. It has.  
  
He was ten years old and reading something on the internet about two people who were in love. They'd been separated at birth and were blood siblings but they hadn't known until much later. They'd dropped everything immediately and felt horrified about what they had done. Dirk couldn't understand why. “They're in love.  I don't see an issue here,” he'd told you, his young voice hard with indignation. Social issues like that tend to get him a little riled up – if only for how stupid he perceives them being. If he's noticed an abundance of 'stupidity' at any given time, he locks himself in his room and  builds things until his frustration at the human race is under control.  
  
Technology is easy to be around, he tells you. It's predictable. As long as something makes sense, it's possible.  
  
You're kind of glad that Dirk isn't a public activist, though. Lord knows you wouldn't be able to deal with him if he was. He'd get into a lot of trouble with that silver, barbed tongue and stubborn attitude. The logic behind his opinions are irrefutable, but many don't see it that way.  
  
Your brows furrow, and you go to open your mouth to say something when he cuts you off.  
  
“Don't look at me like that. It's just practice. Plus it evens out my playing field. For someone who claims to be into dick, I have a disproportionate amount of activity to claim the contrary.” His face scrunches up a little bit, and you chuckle because you remember that. There wasn't any way you couldn't. Dirk and Roxy had both felt awful about the whole kissing thing.  
  
“You know, I'm really glad that you're gay,” you blurt out, and due to the current conversation it just sounds really awkward and you cringe a little bit. “Not because of... this,” you amend, quickly. “But just because I won't have to worry about little Dirks running around in the future.”  
  
“How do you know there won't be?”  
  
“You hate kids.”  
  
“Point taken, but -”  
  
“I don't want to hear about that pact you have with Roxy. It's just – No. I don't need to know where you're sticking your dick or when. Ever. It's just not something I have an interest in discussing.” Your own face screws up a little bit, and he leans forward a little bit, the hand on your cheek sliding to the back of your neck to tilt your head down a little bit. You can see his eyes from this distance, and he's a little nervous. His only kiss was a pretty girl once and he wasn't into it.  
  
Reaching up, you push his shades to the top of his head, and Dirk freezes for a moment, his amber eyes wide and bright. You then reach up to push your own shades up, but your eyes fall half-lidded and your sensitive pupils grow small from the bright light. “Clacking glasses is pretty shit,” you say, shrugging a shoulder lamely as way of explanation before closing your eyes and pressing your lips to his.  
  
Dirk was right – there wasn't much different about lips touching lips. Dirk's weren't as soft as you were used to, but they were warm and were as pliant under yours as any woman's. He's nervous, you can tell. But only for lack of experience. He would warm up to you in time.  
  
You begin to languidly teach him the basics, your lips sliding over his. As in everything else Dirk did, he learned quickly, returning some of your ministrations slowly and carefully before venturing to be more bold. The hand not on the back of your neck wandered absently over your stomach, calloused fingers sussing out the planes and valleys of your muscular structure. But it was a well-worn path and he had known it much before this, his deft fingers taking advantage of the fact and finding places where you were sensitive.  
  
You shudder in his grasp, your hands finding his hips, and you understand that you may never have been in control of this. You'd been merely paving the way for him as you always had been.  
  
This continues for a few moments before he releases you, leaving you panting and shivering with the beginnings of a hard on. Was Dirk really that good? Were you that good of a teacher? Were you just that weak to him?  
  
A slight smile touches Dirk's lips, and it's both amused and genuine. “Congratulations, big bro. You just confirmed the fact that I'm into dudes.” You go to say something in return, but he continues. “Didn't realize how easy you were, though. I barely did anything.”  
  
Your cheeks burn in indignation. “Fucking – what? No. I'm not easy. Don't you speak to me like I'm some slut or someth...ing...” The last word was screwed up because he was rubbing circles into the your hip with his thumb now, and you growl and smack his hand away. “No fair, you're taking advantage of prior knowledge and utilizing it for your own benefit.”  
  
“Well, the hell else am I supposed to do with it then?” The teen cocks a brow at you as though expecting an answer. You can't give him one and therefore grumble unintelligibly. “That's what I thought. But anyway, do you have your answer now? I didn't swear you off men entirely, did I? I don't think think the chub you're sporting is authorized to speak for you.”  
  
At that you looked down. You were aware of a little bit, but it didn't get that far, did it?? Oh. He was just fucking with you again. You sigh exasperatedly and throw your hands up into the air. “I liked kissing you, you're a guy. Congratulations, I like guys.” You wrinkle your nose. “Ugh, that's so weird.”  
  
“You get used to it. Just tell me you'll eventually make use of this information. Practically. Don't just hole up in your room reading bad internet sex advice and watching porn. You can do those things on the side.”  
  
“Because you would like the idea of me making out with another dude or jacking off to porn.”  
  
“Oh, yes. I think about it night and day, bro. Gives me all sorts of stallion-sized boners.”  
  
“Dirk, horses.”  
  
“All day every day.”  
  
“Dirk.”  
  
“That's why I'm only ever shirtless when I bathe you, dude. Because otherwise being so close I'll skewer you with my dingaling.”  
  
“Your meat thermometer?”  
  
“My jackhammer.”  
  
“Your deep-veined, purple-helmeted Spartan of love?”  
  
“My penis?”  
  
The two of  you stare at each other, lips twitching, before you both dissolve into laughter. You forget your door isn't closed and you go to lean on it but fall on your ass instead. Dirk laughs even harder, so you trip him up and he crashes down across from you. You cross your legs all criss-cross-apple-sauce because you're cool like that, your elbows resting on your knees and your face in your hands. How the fuck are you thirty-one years old? Maybe you're really just twelve and what is this?  
  
“Well, that escalated quickly,” Dirk manages to comment after a few moments, breathless from laughter. His cheeks are pink and you like the look of him like that. Very cute. Super happy.  
  
“And then de-escalated just as quickly. At least I got mine off of the dicktionary.” For someone like you, the dicktionary was a godsend. You haven't memorized the URL though, so you just Google 'dicktionary' and your world comes alive with the sound of music. And dick euphemisms. So many dick euphemisms.  
  
“I don't know man. 'I could be touching you with my penis' sounds pretty legit. But come on. I'm gonna make some food. You haven't been eating properly lately and you were doing so well, too. Get your ass off the floor and let's get physical.” He... sang the last part. Why would he sing the last part? Dear God. Trashy old pop music. Your one weakness. Well,  two can play at that game.  
  
“Are you sure you wouldn't rather some sexual healing?” You waggle your brows and he gives you this smirk and you're concerned about where he's taking this.  
  
“I, I will survive.”  
  
“...By singing that in falsetto you do realize you've opened Pandora's Box of ways I can tease the shit out of you?”  
  
“Your voice would be higher than that when I was done with you, baby.”  
  
You stare at him for a few moments, say “No” and then get up and head to the kitchen. He's calling after you, laughing and telling you to wait, before feet are pattering against the hardwood quickly to catch up to you.  
  
“Okay, okay. I'll stop talking about my dick now,” Dirk says, slipping past you to reach the kitchen first. “What do you want to eat?” He goes to the fridge and opens it as is customary for anyone who's hungry. It's this global problem where you can't seem to remember what food you happened to buy and therefore need to check every time as though things have changed. The foodstuffs might have gotten up and left your fridge, don't you know.  
  
You come up behind him and stand close, not touching but enough so that you can see into the fridge. You know well enough not to touch him without his go-ahead, and you were also determined to have your relationship be incredibly un-weird after you made out in the hall.  
  
...You made out with your fifteen year old little brother in the hallway not even ten minutes ago. Because he offered it. Why are you not more disturbed by this than you are?  
  
Oh well. Another tick in the 'Reasons I'm Fucked Up' column, you suppose.  
  
“I don't know,” you say eventually. “But I sure as hell worked up an appetite. Maybe pancakes?”  
  
“Well, considering how making out, under ideal conditions, causes you to burn up to twelve calories a minute and you spent the last couple days not eating... I'm really not surprised. So, pancakes it is. It's brunch time anyway, so it works out.”  
  
“Are you sure those were ideal conditions?”  
  
“I did get a boner, so yes.” It was said so casually that you just... what. Sometimes your little bro absolutely floored you, and that was one of those times. Well, maybe you were so used to playing mind games with everyone that the bluntness caught you off guard.  
  
“Keep in mind that you're fifteen. Teenage boys have a superpower. That superpower involves the fact that anything can give them a boner. I got one the first time I slept naked,” you offer with a shrug. Though, sleeping naked was pretty fucking incredible. You wish you had some much more outlandish story. Maybe something gross about getting one this one time somebody tried to suffocate you with their armpit, or maybe if the - “Oh wait, this chick was eating haggis this one time, and I was all 'What's haggis?' and she told me what it was and I was thinking that she was putting organs in her mouth. It was beautiful.”  
  
“Yes, Dave,” Dirk says, amusement coloring his tone as he finishes putting the ingredients on the counter. Again, you can't help but be distracted by how graceful he is, even when he's doing something that requires so little. “You're a perfect human being. I can't stress that enough.” A laugh. “Organs in her mouth. Come on, bro. Seriously?”  
  
“Shut up.” Ever the eloquent one when you're around him, that's for sure.  
  
Brunch passes without further incident, you mowing down the pancakes that Dirk made like it was your last meal. Dirk had been a sweetie pie and used strawberry syrup this morning, cut up mixed berries and bananas adorning the top of the homemade cakes. Ever since you got home and your little brother had cooked for you that first time, you'd been looking for any excuse for him to do it again. Barring when you were avoiding him, of course. Well, you didn't avoid his cooking.  
  
You don't think it would have been possible to do that unless you did what you did the last two days; quite literally lock yourself in your room with no foodstuffs whatsoever.  
  
Even though you can't seem to find room in your stomach for all the food in front of you, you force down the last quarter anyway. Once you're done, you lean back in your chair and pat your stomach, your tongue darting out to lick your lips. You glance up and catch Dirk's gaze as he watches you finish your food, his lips twitched up in a semblance of a smile. You know he likes to be appreciated, and, well, you're here to do all the appreciating you possibly can.  
  
“Thanks, bro,” you tell him, your hand shifting from a patting one to a rubbing one, the action soothing on what feels like a mountain of stretched skin. In reality, you maybe have an inch of bloating, if that.  
  
“Anytime,” comes the response, Dirk only half-way through his plate due to the fact that he was eating at a normal pace, meticulously cutting everything with his fork and knife. ...You just used your fork for both functions. Easier that way.  
  
You hope nothing changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the first version of this chapter, this is: http://tinyurl.com/mf62zjq !
> 
> It's terrible and I hate it. It moved way too fast and there wasn't amusing dialogue, but it's there for you to look at if you're so inclined. So this is like two chapters in one. And this extra one is more gay.


	8. That's Gay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So this isn't the direction I wanted to take the story at all, but honestly I've tried rewriting this chapter over and over but nothing is working. I'm not happy, but I figure it's time to stop angsting over it and let you all have an update. 
> 
> So without further ado, here's the role reversing "That's Gay".

[Dirk's P.O.V.]

You're reclining back in your computer chair, the hinges on the thing tipping you back until you're almost parallel to the floor of your bedroom. Tangerine irises are trained on the ceiling above as though it's the most interesting and thought-provoking thing in the known universe even though it's the same white canvas it's been since you moved here. Just as well; you may be looking at it, but you're not seeing it.

Your fingers lift to brush against the skin of your lips, and they tingle like they did when they first touched Dave's and again after the kiss was broken. It's such a strange sensation and instead of rubbing or scratching it away you just drop your hand and bask in it. You can feel them twitching up in the semblance of a smile and almost get irritated at yourself for it but sigh instead. Your breath passing over your lips causes you to remember the way Dave's felt.  


Throwing your hands up in exasperation causes the precarious balance of the chair to barely cause the front wheels to come up off the floor and if you didn't sit up as fast as you did, the chair would have tipped ass backwards and that would suck.

Dave would come over to make sure you didn't maim or kill yourself, either, and that would suck even more.

What had been intended to be a mutually beneficial smooch for the sake of science turned into you being a schoolgirl with a fucking complex. A vague obsession over your first real kiss.  


It's put you in a really awkward spot, too, because you have no one else to compare to but Roxy and the point was for it to be incomparable so there's that. And now if you ever want to think of kissing a dude you have practical experience, so the only way you can fantasize about kissing anyone else is through how it felt like with your thirty-one year old brother. Which causes you to fantasize about him just because, again, that's the only experience you have so you don't exactly have a lot to go on other than what you experienced with your own senses.

You can't even fantasize about anything else, really, because someone else's hands feel so much different than your own. And real life feels so much different than you imagined it would.

Your elbows rest on your desk and your face buries itself in your hands.

This is too gay even for you.  


Dave knocks on your door several minutes later (or was it longer?) and you grunt in response. When he opens the door you pull your face out of your hands and furrow your brow before swivelling your chair towards his person. You want to yell at him, berate him for ruining everything ever, but you can't do it. It was your fault and you need to own up to that shit. Even if it might lead to thinking about Dave when you stick a dildo up your butt until such a time when you find a suitable human being to be shacked up with that understands you, can deal with your faults, lets you take control, takes your humor and cynicism with a grain of salt, doesn't mind your thing about touching...

...

You're going to be single forever. :(  


Dave snaps his fingers in front of your face and you blink out of your reverie and look up at him. He seems somewhere between exasperated and amused by your distractedness.

“Wow, way to not pay attention, kid,” he huffs out. “Now I'll have to start over. Not that either of us minds the sound of my wonderful voice but you get the point. Uh... what was I saying again? Oh, right. So. I don't know if I wanna punch you or kiss you for that confidence boost like... wow, that was almost two weeks ago? Weird.”

Your brows furrow further, and you tread cautiously when you tell him to “Get to the fucking point, dude.” There's something about this encounter that's setting you on edge.

At that he offers up a smile that's got teeth, corner of his mouth twitching once with nervousness. “I've got a date, Dirk. With a dude.”  
You reel back a little bit, brows high on your forehead now. It's. Too soon. It's only been two weeks. Mind you, your brother is one of the most famous people in Western society. But it's still too soon. Someone like him can't have been over that kiss before you. You're more in control than he is. He straight up adores you. “What? Really?”

“Yeah. He didn't even realize who I was until after he asked me out for coffee and I said sure. The look on his face was fucking priceless. He's not even half bad looking - for a dude. Plus it's only coffee so it's not gonna be that bad.” Here he pauses, his face falling and he chews on his lip. Wow, he must really be thrown off by this to be emoting so much. After a moment he looks at you helplessly. “This is going to be terrible. You need to help me.”

Running a hand through your hair you don't even get a moment to think about it before you snap at him, “What makes you think I can help you? If you've noticed I'm not exactly Mr. Sociable, and the only practical experience I have with men is you. I'm not -”

He drops to his knees in front of you, hands clasped in front of his chest. “Pleaaaaaaaaaaase?”  
He's...

Begging you.

He's begging you to help him on his knees and you are officially the most flustered and irritated teenager on the face of the planet. In fact, you bluntly tell him, “If you want my help for this, you can suck my dick. It'll be good practice for later and you're already... down... there..?”

As you spoke he put his hands on your hips, fingers curling into the waistband of your sweats. Giving a playful little tug, he actually lowers his head until he was about an inch away. Your cheeks are very pink right now and you've practically stopped breathing before he stops and starts laughing. You frown so heavily that your face might as well get stuck like that, and Dave starts laughing harder over how you look constipated. Eventually you grudgingly let yourself laugh and some of the tension leaves your body.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders loosely, and he instantly buries himself against you. The action is a bit of a relief. Maybe you were mostly just worried about your biggest supporter leaving you high and dry. Your chin rests on the top of his head, his hair tickling your nose, and you can feel him taking a deep breath, his face buried in your neck. When a hand starts rubbing the tension from your back you almost wish you could hold on longer but you quite frankly don't feel comfortable enough to. Slowly you peel yourself away from him, and he does the same.

Dave looks so happy afterwards that it almost makes you feel guilty for having a thing.

“Alright, alright. I'll help you. Whatever that means.”

“It means,” he says, matter-of-factly, “that we're going to roleplay.”

It takes a moment for that to sink in before a slow smile comes over your lips. “That,” you say, “is something I can do.”

\----  
When you agreed to a little bit of roleplaying, this wasn't exactly what you expected. Though it does explain all the noises and smells coming from outside your bedroom. Not to mention the fact that Dave begged you.

Before you came out, he even undressed you to your boxer-briefs and put something nicer on you. You resisted any thoughts about having him shuddering because of you and you were quite proud of that fact. His hands were gentle when he fixed your hair and smoothed out your dress shirt, and when he finally stood back he whistled at you and told you you were “drop dead gorgeous”.

You had to close your eyes until you came out to the main bulk of the apartment, and when you opened your eyes your brows raised. The furniture was rearranged to look a bit like a coffee shop, and there were fresh croissants on the counter (the Philsbury stuff in the can), coffee brewing, and a bunch of assorted little cookies and cake pops and such. He was really going for authentic.

“So?”

“So? That's it? That's all you have to say? Dave, this is... actually pretty incredible. I'm impressed. You just have to give me a couple years to create a robot barista and it'll be perfect.”

“Unfortunately I don't have a couple years to prepare. We'll just have to pretend.”

“When's your date?”

“Saturday.”

“Dave, it's Tuesday. You'll do fine. You have plenty of time to practice before then.” You lead him by the hand up to the counter, eager to get this show on the road.

For the next hour you both entertain yourselves with edibles and coffee. The conversation flows easily between the two of you as it always does, despite the fact that you're pretending to be someone else. You get a little distracted when Dave pulls out a cigarette and lights it. As much as you don't like what it does to the human body, the fact that he smokes is comforting. The smell is comforting. It's been a constant in your life for a long time. 

If you ever get lonely when Dave's gone you just buy a pack of cigarettes from the corner store from that nice old lady who knows you buy them for Dave when he's feeling like shit. Then when you get home you stick the thing upright in an ashtray and let it burn itself down to the filter. When it's done, you just snuff it out and wash your hands until the smell is gone and work with your tools until your hands once again smell like metal and oil.

However it does bring attention to his mouth again, which you'd been trying to avoid thinking about. It's enough to cause your sentence to trail off a little bit and Dave nudges you under the table with his foot.

“You were saying? Dude, you kind of drifted off there. What were you thinking about?” There's a little bit of concern in there. You merely shrug and take another sip of your coffee. He doesn't seem to think that's a good enough response and sighs. “Dirk, come on.”

You furrow your brows again, something you'd been doing a lot more since that thing in the hallway. “I was thinking about how much of an asshole you are,” you respond honestly, giving a lame shrug. There's no better way to put it.  
It catches him off guard and he leans forward, the smoke of the cigarette invading your personal space even more so now. Licking his lips, Dave tries to respond delicately but he fails. “What the fuck did I do?”

You can't help it; you laugh at him. “What didn't you do? Why did you kiss me? God, that was the stupidest thing I've ever done in my life.” Dave panics. He's got this all wrong. He thinks he's ruined your delicate sensibilities but he should know you never had any in the first place. When he's in the middle of a flurry of apologies, you lean over the table and kiss him. It shuts him up for about half a second.  


Dave jerks backward, eyes wide. “What the fuck dude? You can't just do that. I thought -” He's struggling to wrap his brain around what understandably looks like a bipolar switch. You feel a bit bad for him. Actually, you feel bad for both of you. No matter what happens this will have fucked you both up in some way or another and it will continue to do so until you find someone who can put up with your shit that isn't Dave. And because there isn't, you'll continue to be sexually frustrated and you'll definitely continue to project.

“Dave,” you hiss at him, and that shuts him up. “That kiss is all I've been able to think about. It's ruined every fantasy I ever had because the real thing's nothing like I thought it would be. And now it's like I can't even make mine close to what it would be like. And because you're my only practical experience you're currently at the seat of every desire I have because the human brain is stupid and useless and all I want to do is kiss your stupid fucking face!”

Gears turning. You can see them thinly veiled behind his gaze as he processes what you've told him.  
Clink.

Clink.

Click.

“Oh my God. Jesus kid, I know I'm fantastic at kissing but this is a little much.”

“You're telling me. This was not part of the plan. Emotions and desires are so fucking – retarded. The logic in this isn't even helping. You know why? Because there is none.”

You must look incredibly pitiful because the next thing you know he's snubbing out his smoke in the ashtray and leaning over the table to kiss you again. You do have a habit of being able to get him to do whatever you want. One day it's going to get the both of you into a lot of trouble, but right now you don't give a shit.

You're going to milk this for all it's worth.


End file.
